


Comrades

by Wyvern (ann)



Category: A-Team
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-23
Updated: 2010-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-12 03:20:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ann/pseuds/Wyvern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While In Country a mission goes wrong for Murdock and Face. Can Hannibal save his men?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comrades

Colonel Hannibal Smith was annoyed. He lifted the field glasses he held and scanned the area once again. No movement attracted his attention. He lowered them and began to chew upon the cigar that rested between his teeth.

"They'll be back," BA Baracus said from his vantage point beside the older man.

"They should've been here by now, or at least called in," Hannibal commented, looking at the offending radio. No crackle greeted his words and he turned once more to scan the jungle before them.

"They've just got caught up; you know those two... if a goat is in need of help, that crazy fool Murdock's trying to help it." The words were spoken with a smile, but the tone was too serious for it to be meant as a joke.

Moving over on to his back, Smith checked the position of the sun and calculated how much longer they had before the chopper arrived to pick them up. Sighing at the overcast sky, he glanced at his watch; two hours.

"They know better than that," he said in reply to BA's last comment.

"Maybe they got tied down by Charlie?"

Hannibal looked at his friend, his decision made. "I'm going after them." He began to gather his equipment.

BA's firm hand on his arm stopped him. "We agreed not to."

Smith glanced up, seeing concern etched across the other's face. "That was then, this is now," he said, remembering his own words back at camp about anyone not back in time would be left. The mission was too important to be endangered over one man's life. "If I'm not back in two hours," he paused, realising just what that would mean, "get Charlie's position back to base." He paused again, then added, "We'll walk out."

BA snorted his reply at the last statement. Both knew that you did not walk out from seventy miles behind enemy lines. "I should be the one going," the sergeant said, his jaw setting with determination.

"No," snapped the older man. "And that's an order," he added for good measure. Then, seeing the look he received for his words, he held out a hand and rested it upon the other's muscular arm. "I'm responsible."

BA had no answer for that; he knew that ever since they had lost Peterson, a fresh faced nineteen year old a few months ago, Hannibal had taken to watching his men closely, becoming too protective of his unit. Then, getting an even younger-looking fresh faced kid called Peck to replace Peterson had only made matters worse.

BA watched as Hannibal picked his way carefully across the open space, his gun at the ready to give support if needed. Soon his commander slipped into the dense undergrowth and disappeared from view. Sighing, he glanced at his watch, then at the sky. Time was short, and he knew that Smith would not return without his two missing men.

Hannibal was almost certain that something had happened to prevent Murdock and Peck from returning to the rendezvous point. He also knew that one would not leave the other. The friendship between the slightly crazy pilot and the fresh faced lieutenant had been instantaneous. Peck accepted Murdock's moods, never losing his temper or raising his voice to the other man, just gently steering him away from some of his crazier ideas, and even agreeing with a few of the milder ones.

Smith blinked as he realised that he was letting his mind drift. Out in the jungle that was a very dangerous thing to do. He tightened his grip on the

M-16 and moved more cautiously along the small animal path.

He knew roughly the direction his two men had taken. The mission had seen to that. They each had a section of land to cover, looking for the Viet Cong's new camp. Smith and Baracus had found the site, so he knew that Murdock and Peck were not in any trouble from stumbling over the camp. Yet there were patrols out, and they could well have met with one of them.

Fifty minutes later, he was beginning to despair and knew that he would have to turn back within a few minutes or he really would be walking out.

A sound from ahead caught his attention. Moving swiftly, he ducked behind some foliage and waited. He saw them staggering along the path in front of him. Murdock had Peck's arm over his shoulder, the pilot's other arm wrapped about the small waist, gun hanging awkwardly as he stumbled along under the added weight. Peck had been wounded high in the chest. Fresh blood covered his uniform, giving the impression of impending death; he was gasping with each step, eyes half closed. He was all but unconscious.

Murdock's face was set in unusual stillness as he ploughed on through the jungle. Sweat ran in rivulets down his body and his lips were drawn back over clenched teeth. His own breath was shallow, gasping as he forced his body to continue the trek with his burden.

Smith took in the situation at a glance and, moving swiftly forward, identified himself before he stepped into Murdock's view. The pilot was still caught off guard and lifted his gun, pointing the wavering muzzle towards the intruder. Recognising his commander, he swallowed, slowly lowering the weapon.

"What happened?" Smith growled, moving forward to help Murdock as he lowered his burden to the ground. Peck groaned at the movement, then fell silent.

"We were ambushed," came the shaken reply. "Faceman said it didn't feel right, but I just.... I just...." he stopped, unable to go on, his mind replaying the sight of his young friend being flung backwards by the force of the bullet that tore into his body.

Smith, realising that Murdock was in shock, restrained his anger and gently advised, "We've got to stop the bleeding." As he spoke, he began to open the emergency medical kit he had brought. Getting no response, he snapped, "Now, Captain."

Murdock twitched like a puppet that had its strings tugged. Crouching, he helped the colonel as the latter applied a pressure bandage to the wound. Reaching out, he gently pushed the convulsing body of his friend back into the ground as he arched up against the added pain.

"Murdock... Don't!" came the anguished cry from Peck.

"I've got to, Faceman, I've got to," returned the pilot, fear in his voice at the pain Smith's actions were causing. Moving a hand, he grasped the one Templeton was weakly moving.

"Don't... waste time," gasped the other man, opening his eyes for the first time. "Get back... report to.... Colonel Smith."

Hannibal's head snapped up at his name. Moving, he knelt beside the wounded man's chest, letting Peck see him. "You've done well, son," he said by way of comfort.

"Didn't find Charlie... could be any.... where." He started to sit up, but Murdock restrained him easily.

"We've got Charlie's position all mapped out, son, you just rest and take it easy. Save your strength."

'Didn't mean... to cause... trouble," Peck gasped, slumping back, his energy drained.

Smith reached out and cupped the wounded man's face in one large hand. He waited until the blue eyes focused upon him. "You haven't caused any trouble, Templeton. You're one of us now, so just settle back and let your unit do its job."

Peck swallowed and blinked back the tears that had nothing to do with his wound. Slowly he nodded his head, agreeing to do as his commander requested, his eyes closing of their own volition.

Glancing at his watch, Hannibal estimated that they had forty minutes to get back to the pick-up point. It had taken him fifty to reach this spot, but he had been moving carefully and looking for any tracks. They would have to forego caution if they were to get back in time.

Smith sat back and watched the young lieutenant; his breathing was coming in short gasps, his head thrashing from side to side as he tried to fight the pain. Digging into the medical pack, Hannibal produced a morphine injection and, after giving Murdock a quick glance to confirm his intention, he released the clear liquid into the injured man's system. The effect was almost instantaneous as Peck relaxed back into the grip of the drug.

"We're going to have to carry him," Hannibal stated, repacking the medical bag and slinging it over his shoulder, then picking up his gun.

"It was my fault, Colonel," Murdock said, as he gently wiped a stray lock of golden hair from the unconscious man's forehead. "He wanted to turn back, but I kept us going."

Colonel Smith leant over and grabbed the other man's chin and forced his head up to meet his eyes. "We don't have time for this," he stated firmly. "You did what you had to do, and it's done. Now we have to get him back, we've only got thirty-five minutes." He spoke clearly and firmly, not letting his concern show in his tone. If Murdock lost it now, they were all dead.

Murdock, as if realising this, let a single shudder travel his lanky form, then standing up, stated firmly, "I'm all right, Colonel sir." Bending, he lifted the wounded man up into his arms as gently as he could, letting the limp form settle against his chest. "It's this way, isn't it sir?"

Smith nodded his agreement and took the lead. He tried not to consider the implications of Murdock attitude, his retreat into total military protocol, and only hoped that Peck's wound would not cause him to lose two men.

The trail back was easier to follow. After twenty minutes he glanced back, an offer to carry Peck upon his lips, but it died when he saw the fierce determination etched across the pilot's face as he gently carried his precious burden, who lay sleeping in his arms, looking even younger than he normally did.

BA was waiting for them when they arrived back at the rendezvous point. He heard their approach and moved into position to cover them as they crossed the small clearing to their hiding place.

Murdock gently lowered Peck to the ground. Squatting, he checked the bandage, wincing as he saw the red stain seeping through the covering.

Hannibal was by his side. Seeing the spreading stain, he turned to Baracus and asked, "Has the chopper called in? Are they on time?"

"About five minutes ago. They're coming in low and from the east," BA answered, keeping his attention directed towards the area the chopper should appear from.

As if on cue, the sound of blades beating the air filled the area and a Huey swung into view from behind the rise. It was moving fast and hugging the ground, its blades stirring up the jungle beneath it.

"Come on," Smith cried above the noise. He motioned for BA to help Murdock with Peck, as he moved out into the open and signalled their position to the approaching aircraft.

He ducked down as gunfire filled the air, and saw a small patrol of the enemy swinging out along the edge of the clearing. The fire was returned by the gunner in the helicopter, whilst the pilot motioned for them to get moving as he hung hovering just above the ground.

Smith returned the fire as he covered his men while they carried the injured Peck along with them. BA finally took his full weight, allowing Murdock to also engage the enemy. One of the chopper personnel leaned out and assisted Baracus as he handed the unconscious man into the helicopter. Smith, seeing that Peck was safe, yelled for Murdock to get in. Only after he had seen all three of his men in the chopper did the colonel allow them to cover his retreat to safety.

The side of the clearing spun dizzily below him as he jumped into the now rising vehicle. He slipped, and felt a strong grip on his jacket pulling him up to safety. He slid into the craft, ending up laying on his side, breathing heavy and looking up into the concerned face of his sergeant. He was too winded to answer the worry he saw there, but he nodded and smiled a reassurance.

He lay for a few minutes gathering his breath, then slowly sitting up he looked toward where Murdock and a medic leant over the unconscious man. Mustering his strength, he moved over and knelt beside them. "How is he?" He felt his worst fears were being realised when he saw how pale and still the youth was, barely able to draw breath into his body.

"It will be close," the medic replied, then switching on his link to the pilot, he requested an ambulance to be standing by when they landed. That settled, he finished up by applying a handheld drip. He smiled his thanks as Murdock's clawlike hand reached over and took the bag from him, leaving him free to attend the injury.

The flight seemed to take hours when, in reality, it was only forty minutes. It was the longest forty minutes of Smith's life. The ambulance was waiting when they landed, and his last sight of Peck was as he was loaded into its back, followed closely by Murdock who refused to leave the young man.

***

Smith had been caught up by the debriefing, and it was dark when he left the control centre. He stood for a few moments letting the fresh air awaken his flagging spirits, then looking up he saw Baracus walking towards him. From the other's expression, he knew that the sergeant had been waiting for some time.

"How's Lieutenant Peck?" Smith asked, refusing to use the nickname Murdock had given the young man.

"He's going to make it," BA said, and waited while the news sank in, watching the pale, drawn features relax into a smile of relief. "I'm not so sure about that crazy fool," he added, his tone harsh to hide his concern.

Smith felt his shoulders drop at the words. "What's happened?" he asked, fearing the worst.

"He won't leave the hospital. They've tried to throw him out twice now and he's refusing as only Murdock can." There was no amusement in his voice.

Smith felt tired; he had not slept in over twenty-six hours, and thirteen of those had been spent behind enemy lines. "I'll go talk to him," he said, moving towards the medical area.

BA kept close behind him, not giving, but still offering, support. As they reached the hospital unit where Peck was being kept, Smith turned and motioned for BA to wait outside. "He always acts worse with a larger audience," he commented by way of explanation. The sergeant nodded his agreement and took up a position beside the door.

The ward was shrouded in semi-darkness. Most of the patients were sleeping, a few were shifting as sleep eluded them. He returned the salute of one soldier who recognised him. Moving on, he saw a halo of light coming from the end bed and knew that he had found his lieutenant.

As he approached, he saw a nurse shake her head and move away. Seeing him, she began to move forward, an instruction to leave the ward already upon her lips. It died as she got closer.

"Evening, John," she said, her tone friendly. "Your boy's going to make it, but it was touch and go there for a while."

"Will they post him Stateside?" he asked, almost wishing they would.

"Doubt it. A month's medical leave, maybe, but beyond that you'll need to see the doctor."

"How's Murdock?" he asked, drawing her off to one side, knowing the pilot had keen hearing.

"He's flipping, John. One minute he's here, next he's in spaceland. Dr Summers wanted him out earlier, but Dr Johnson was able to deflect his attention until things had quietened, but I need him out by rounds tomorrow or Summers is signing the Section 8 himself." She tried to smile, but failed. The day had been too long, the wounded too many.

"I'll speak to him," Hannibal assured her, starting to move away.

She restrained him with a gentle hand. "Maybe Summers' answer might be for the best?"

He reached up and rubbed his neck. How could he explain what a section 8 would do to the already insecure pilot? "If we post him back Stateside without us, he'll disappear into... spaceland permanently." He paused, then added, "He's just out of focus because of the kid getting shot. I'll speak to him."

Seeing the fear of losing another man hidden behind Smith's words, she nodded and smiled. "All right, John, but you owe me dinner for this."

He smiled in return; he was back on an even keel. She had responded as she was supposed to when his charm was applied. "Finest restaurant in town, babe."

She patted his arm then, turning, walked towards a restless patient. He watched her for a few moments as she settled the man.

Murdock was seated beside the sleeping lieutenant, nattering away as if the man was awake and paying rapt attention. He leant forward to straighten out the crisp white sheet, taking care not to disturb the drip line that fed into the arm which lay outside the sheets.

"She was only twenty-one, but what a looker... maybe I'll let you have her address once you're out of here..." He stopped when a shadow fell across him. Turning, he saw Smith and smiled brightly. "Lookie here, Faceman, the colonel's come to visit." He stood and waved the other man towards his seat. Smith shook his head in refusal and moved to the other side of the bed.

"How's he been?" he asked, motioning to the sleeping man.

"Was a little bit restless earlier, but we soon settled him down," Murdock replied, resuming his seat.

"Heard you had some problems earlier?"

Murdock looked at Hannibal, then at Peck's sleeping features. "They wanted me to leave," he said under his breath. Smith strained to hear his words, but didn't comment as he felt that the pilot had more to say. "I could have killed him." The despair was clear in his voice.

"Dr Summers reckons he's going to be fine; they're not even going to send him Stateside," Hannibal replied, his own voice just above a whisper.

"They should do; he's too young to die out here," Murdock shot back, his eyes bright with unshed tears at the waste of the war.

Sitting back in his chair, Smith realised that he was not really prepared for this conversation. A few hours sleep would help, but by then the damage would be done and it would be harder to deal with. "They're all too young for this war, Murdock," he said, wanting to touch the other man, but knowing that to do so would only break the fragile bridge that Murdock had spanned between his realities. "Templeton's a good soldier, and he agreed with you out there. It was unlucky that he got shot, but..." he added more firmly, "it's not your fault. If you start thinking that, you'll never leave this place."

"He wanted to turn back, but I kept on at him... told him... that you... would not be impressed if you found out we'd turned back." A shaking hand covered his face. "I should have listened to him...."

"Murdock, I can't save you from your nightmares," Smith's tone was adamant, "but you are going to have to learn to live with them. Either that or let them drag you down." As he spoke, he recalled a few nightmares of his own. Sighing, he pushed the slackjawed features of Peterson from his mind. "It's not easy to live with a mistake, but it's a damn sight better than running from them."

"I don't think I can... Colonel." The cry for help was clear, but Smith was not sure how to answer. The choice was taken from him as a weak voice spoke from the bed. Turning, both saw that Peck was awake.

"You've got to Murdock, I'd be dead without you to show me how to survive this...." He stopped, unsure how to go on. The voice was weak, his features pale, but the light in his eyes was strong.

"Face, I got you shot...." began Murdock, unable to meet the intense gaze the other gave him.

"I got me shot..." Peck gasped, "not you..." Seeing this was having little effect, he tried to reach up a hand, but stopped as pain flared. Murdock, seeing this, reached out and took the offered hand.

"You were right; we should have turned back," he said firmly, meeting his friends open look.

"I was right..." Peck agreed with a slight smile. "Next time we'll take my gut feelings into account... Damn it, Murdock, I would have died without you.... You got me out of there... you've got me out fifty times since I've been here." The lieutenant slumped back, his energy gone. "Don't do this to me, I can't lose..." the words were mumbled, the drugs he had been given kicking in, sleep waiting to claim him.

Murdock leant forward, saying, "I'm not going anywhere, Faceman. You, me, the colonel," he shot Smith a glance, "and Baracus... we make A Team... a damn good team." He stopped as Peck smiled in reply.

"The A-Team," Smith said, reaching over and resting his hand upon the two clenched together in comradeship. Peck had pulled Murdock back. He knew the captain would not leave as long as he thought he was needed.

"The A-Team...." Murdock said, a glint back in his eyes. "I like that. Maybe we would use that as our code name."

"Maybe we could discuss it over breakfast?" Smith said, seeing the lieutenant had succumbed to sleep. Standing, he waited until the captain joined him. As they walked out of the ward, he listened as Murdock explained in detail how he was going to inform Baracus of their new code name. Sighing, he pushed aside the idea of a nice quiet breakfast....

 


End file.
